A/N: I have to thank IVV and richards25 so much for these fantastic tributes! I love the completely separate emotional characteristics these two possess, and I truly believe that they are as wonderful as those that created them! I know that this chapter took a bit to arrive, but trust me, its still on my mind and a great deal too. Please Read and Review, I can't stress how important reviews are to me! They make me want to write more! So, on with the show...here is District Four!

Rip Crevan

District 4- Male

Courtesy of IceVeinsVillain

Before I was thrown in prison, I used to swim out by the jagged rocks that decorate the coastlines of District Four's beautiful seas. The water glimmers there, with a certain shine that invites only the bravest to test the treacherous waters. I was one of them, the brave; I swam in the wake of crashing waves and bathed in the shining waters. That is not how it is anymore, now I sit in the prison, but I am not wasting away.

Pumping the bar up and down, I exhale my hot breath as I complete my workout. My muscles are much more prominent then they used to be, but I am not a hulking terror. I am wiry, lean, like a wolf, one that is caged by an angry flock of men. I put the bar back in its resting place and shuffle back to my cell, the guards constantly watching me with keen eyes. I reach my small home, and I plop down on the cot that is chained to the wall. One of the guards slams the barred door shut, and the rattling of the bars can be heard for a few moments. I sit up, and run my fingers through my dark brown hair. I refuse to look at the walls that surround me, I can't handle being locked up for another day. It's been so long, I need to stretch my body somewhere outside of this wretched prison.

But I can't, I'm in here until I die. Such a stiffening set of words to hear, that you will spend the rest of your life caged like some animal, like a leper. Despite all that though, I'm content with my punishment because I fulfilled my promise to my mother. I didn't tell her the promise of course, but I vowed that one day when I was strong, smart and devoted enough, I would kill my father. My father was not someone that I treasured as the man who taught me right from wrong and guided me on the path of growing up. He was never there, he left my mother when he figured out she was pregnant. Didn't want to get his hands dirty with a child. My mother was forced to work days and nights at the wharf to support us, so I was home alone a lot.

I practiced first with animals, mainly seagulls. One doesn't realize how hard it is to hit a bird in flight with a knife until you actually try. Standing on the beach, the other children too frightened by my unwonted antics to hang around, I would hurl knives I stole from the back windows of the butcher at the birds. The first time I hit one, I nicked it's wing, and it crashed to the ground without its aerial support. I didn't know what to do, I thought I didn't have it in me when I started to ask for forgiveness. Then I thought, well if I can't kill a bird how can I kill a man?

I stomped heel of my boot on the head of the seagull, satisfying the sickening crunch of its tattered skull. Bits of brain seeped out, and the bird let out one last exhausted pant. I let the waves carry the body to its sunken funeral, the tides would decide where its final resting place was. Satisfied with my kill, I began to religiously stroll down to the beach in the afternoons to practice, honing my skills with the tiny knives.

I became quicker with my kills, nailing nearly every bird I targeted. Then a funny thing happened, the birds stopped coming to the beach. They left a few at a time and then one day when I was thirteen, they were all gone. I took it as a sign, that it was time, time to carry out the sinister act that I had so long planned in my mind. There was only one problem…I had no clue as to who my father was.

I learned from my mother, I would begin conversations alluding to my father and I think after about ten or eleven talks like those she got the picture.

"I want you to go to the butcher and ask who buys salmon on Wednesdays," she had ordered me about a month after the birds had left the beach.

I thought it would be fruitless, I didn't care who bought salmon on Wednesdays. Then the thought clicked into my brain as if someone had flipped a switch, and I briskly carried myself down to the butcher and promptly asked the question.

"The mayor," the butcher replied suspiciously.

My heart stopped, I swear for about a fraction of a second, it stopped. Out of everyone in district four, my father was Mayor Janas Whirling. He had changed his name from Richard Crevan, which is my real first name. I hate it though, and only my mother calls me Richard. I was so distraught that my plan would come to an end, that after all the work I'd done, that my father would live.

Then I decided that I would go through with it, and tenacity bubbled under my skin. I took to planning, day and night, forgoing schooling, because I didn't care about an education. I drew up a plan so meticulous and malevolent that it almost seemed a bit to ghoulish, but I shrugged off the notion. I waited until the day before the reaping of my thirteenth year, and walked down to the Justice Building.

"I'm here to see Whirling," I spoke with a cheery tone when I came to the main door of the Justice Building.

"State your business boy," the Peacekeeper at the door demanded.

"Actually, the mayor's duty is to see his citizens without need of appointment or confirmation, so I really don't have to tell you my business," I snapped with a snarky tone. I didn't care what that Peacekeeper thought, I just had to get to my father.

"I don't like you very much," the Peacekeeper stated with a misty glare as he let me into the building and directed me to Mayor Whirling's office. When I arrived at the door, I braced myself, I knew I had to do it in one swift motion or else the whole plan would be blown, sent off into the night like a billow of smoke. I swung the door open and flipped open my knife, striding to the desk and lunging forward, slipping the knife into the throat of the figure who sat at the desk.

It wasn't my father, it was a woman. His secretary, I didn't even stop to check her name tag to see whose life I had just mistakenly taken. I thought for a moment what the ramifications would be, had I split a family or just murdered some sort of pariah. I didn't reflect on it too long, I can't really remember that part. I just know that right after I had killed her, my father walked into the office and just like that I ended his life as well. I didn't have the same element of surprise I had carried against his secretary however, and he was able to cry out before his life disappeared in front of him. The Peacekeepers grabbed me, breaking my arms and kicking the knife from my hand. They bound me in ropes and whipped me in the square, making my back sting with red welts in front of the district. My mother wasn't there, she knew what I had done but she couldn't bear to be witness to her child's public ignominy. I never saw her again.

So now I sit in this cell, the dark confines of the chamber my only companion. I don't even know what day it is, nor do I care. The only thing I focus on in here is my physique. That's all I can do, all I can work on. Despite my wicked nature, I always need something to do; I think I have ADD or something. I can't just sit and think about what I did like the Peacekeepers and the new mayor want me to; I have to work towards something, accomplish some sort of goal. So I pump weights up and down every day, for a good portion of my day. I'm much stronger than I was before, but it doesn't really matter.

I don't respond at first when the peacekeeper comes to my cell to wake me up for the reaping. I took a nap in after I hit the gym, and was still damp with sweat. I join the line of other boys in line to take a shower, there aren't many of us, but we go to the reapings nonetheless. Confused at first after waking up so abruptly, I ask the boy in front of me what's going on and he fills me in on the reapings.

"Reaping day dumbass," he chortles darkly.

There are only two boys in front of him and I'm the last in line, the guards guide us to the shower room, we are under constant supervision at all times. The Peacekeepers slam the door shut behind us, and we are watched by surveillance cameras as we strip down to take a shower. It's sort of awkward, because the room is a square, white walls and a white tile floor. One single drain sits in the middle of the room, and the architecture of the floor is sloped, so whenever water pours down from any area, it will sink to the drain in the center. Showerheads adorn the wall every five feet, so we have our own personal areas. There is only one bar of soap.

We strip down and make sure to avert each other's gaze. Geoffrey, the boy who was in front of me takes the bar of soap and lathers his body, passing it to me and I proceed to do the same. My toned body is covered in translucent bubbles that travel slowly down my sides. The boy next to me wrenches the bar from my hand and I walk over to my showerhead, pressing the button for the water to be released. The water is freezing, cold as ice on my skin, and I shudder as the suds are rinsed off of my body. I run my fingers down my chest and arms to scrape off the grime and when I'm done I reach for a towel. When we are all done, the Peacekeepers guide our naked bodies to a dressing room and we slip on the jeans salvaged from the dumps. There are boots with holes in the front, leaving toes exposed to the elements. Shirts are passed around, and I slip on some ratty grey rag and when I'm done, I feel a hand rest on my shoulder.

While the other boys like Geoffrey are simply corralled by the Peacekeepers and kept in line, separate from the other boys and girls but not made a public mockery. I on the other hand, am a murderer, so I am bound in chains, and I don't care. I know my few moments of fame will come to me soon, and I can't wait to plague the dreams of those who catch my gaze out in the square.

I'm infamous for my crime; mothers use my name when trying to scare their children into stopping their frivolities. "Be good or they'll let Rip out," they chide and the children scramble to get in line for their mothers. I relish my moments out of the prison, making sure that the little horror story of District Four remains true.

A knife of sunshine permeates the darkness of the prison as the Peacekeeper leading me heaves the door open. He pushes me forward, and my chains rattle in the still morning air. The second we break into the light, I assume my role as the wild devil. I've always been a bit harrowing, but I let it become my very embodiment when I go to the reapings. I don't even worry my mind with the prospect of actually being reaped; I just worry about giving the others twice the more anxiety.

I am bound, and I totter forward as the Peacekeeper drags me to the square. Sunlight pierces my skin, and I wince as if I were touching flames. My misty eyes are not attuned to the fire in the sky, and I have to focus my sight on something else, like the girls who are walking on my right.

"Morning ladies," I growl and they suddenly become aware of my presence.

One of them lets out a little yelp and with a petrified look on their faces they scurry away. Laughter escapes me, I can't hold it in, I am just getting started. By the time we get to the square, I have frightened my fair share of children. Since we are of a separate class, and I am sort of telling the truth when I say, us prison boys are only there for the actual reaping. No mayor's speech, no capitol movie, none of that nonsense. We are just there to see if we win our freedom in the lottery of souls.

"Ula Ermin!" the escort calls out.

She is pretty, to a degree. I whistle at her at several people shoot me disapproving looks until they figure out who I am.

"Leave him be honey, he's crazy," I hear a mother whisper to her child. The propaganda spread about me is ridiculous. The murder was pre-meditated, I've been well aware of who I am and what I am since the beginning. Nor did I paint the walls of the Justice Building with blood like the urban legend says I did, I'm a bit of a celebrity, for all the wrong reasons.

The escort shoves his fingers into the boy's bowl; I swear his index finger is layered in fat. His greasy hands pick up about five slips and he has to shake them off and back into the bowl to single out just one paper. His fat hands have an ordeal trying to open the thing and his curses are audible across the square. He blushes after he realizes this, and proceeds to read the name hastily, trying to finish the reaping.

"Richard Crevan!" he blurts out quickly.

"Ha!" I shout and everyone looks my way.

"Oh, you're serious?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Is that your name young man," the escort says, eying my chains with a protective glance, as if I am going to try and slice him to pieces.

"Are you a fat mess?" I shoot back.

He looks hurt, and I love it.

"Well there's your answer," I snicker.

My excitement builds, I can win my freedom. I am well aware that if I come back a victor, not only will I win my freedom but my mother and I can live in victor's village and never be bothered again. I can do this, and with that knowledge in hand I turn to the Peacekeepers.

"Well boys, you don't expect me to get up on stage covered in these rusty chains? By God, where were the shiny ones? I need to look presentable for the capitol."

The crowd is nervous, they think I'm insane and I let them, savoring every minute of their predictable fear. The Peacekeepers do release my bonds, but holds my arms behind my back as they wheel me onto the stage.

Ula looks disgusted with me, and she has every right to be. I am the psycho who killed his father, but I have killed before, and shooting her the same disgusted look she gets the message.

"District 4! Your tributes!" the pudgy oaf applauds and no one says a word. Not a cheer is offered and no two hands meet in clapping. Ula and I are taken into the Justice Building and that is the end of it.

"Oh Richard, what have you gotten into," my mother sobs as she holds my hands in hers, staring into my faded eyes.

"Mom, I got this," I assure with indifference, "We'll be in victor's village in no time."

"You think that's what I want?" unprecedented venom seeps into her language.

She catches me off guard and the words are a blow to my stomach.

"Well, yeah," I breathe.

"Sweetheart, all I want is to have you back at my side, I could care less about money or even having a home, I just need you," her passion is genuine.

I kiss her cheek and give her a smile, something I haven't done in years. She lays her rosy hand on my cheek and the tears recede, and she forces a weary smile onto her face. My mother has never looked so tired and I can clearly see the grey bags that hang under her eyes. She is exhausted, emotionally and physically. Still working at the wharf and coming home to an empty house, my mother is a soldier.

"Make me proud," her words are sweet, tearing what little of a heart I have into pieces. She hits me harder than any of the prison guards could try to, and I know that what she really wants deep down in the recesses of her heart is for me to succeed.

And succeed I will.

Ula Ermin

District 4- Female

Courtesy of richards25

Shining like diamonds, the waves crash against the white sand at my feet. My toes recoil at the icy blue that cascades over them, and I shiver with delight. The ocean beckons me and I sigh as a give it my answer; not today, today is the Reaping.

The Reaping has always held a grim significance in my mind; my thoughts are mostly clouded of the days before Dory, my sister, volunteered to be in the Hunger Games. I was shocked, we all were, Dory was so bright and talented, and she could swim about a mile underwater. She made it pretty far, into the final eight. She was killed by an axe, to throat; it was a mess of blood. I couldn't watch, my eyes were glued to the screen though and I saw my sister die at the hands of some crazed tribute just wanting to go home.

The waves recede, taking my answer plaintively, washing out to sea. In their flight to leave, a small shell colored a rosy pink is deposited at my feet. It is perfect, completely intact all around with the sharp angles making up the tail. I smile, one moment of joy that leaves my face as quick as it came, and then I'm off for home. My feet drag in the refulgent sand as I cross the dunes sluggishly. I do not want to go home, while my family readies themselves for today's event I chose to spend it at the beach, the only thing that brings me happiness anymore. I can't bring myself to turn the rusty knob to our Oceanside shanty, and my sister Coral does it for me from the inside. She must have seen me coming up the path.

Coral is sixteen, two years younger than me, docile and brainy. Corals hair almost has a pinkish tint to its sunny blonde coloring, hence her name. More of an introvert, Coral spends her time reading and helping my mother sew nets for the wharf my father works at. I love my sister unconditionally, and I don't think I could handle losing a second one. Coral looks so much like Dory; I can't bear to look at her if the memories come up too fast. Quickly, I push them away and brush past Coral to get inside the cottage.

"What's wrong?" Coral asks with genuine care.

"I think you know Coral," I respond with cracks in my voice.

She doesn't reply, but slowly nods, our thinking parallel. Coral gets my moods, her intuitive nature realizing that she doesn't have to say much to make me feel better. I was closest to Dory, if you count my mother out, who didn't speak for about a week afterwards. Coral's eyes meet with mine, the brilliant blue sinking into my feelings like a ship descending into the dark abyss of the oceans. Her gaze is heavy, laced with emotional understanding and secret comfort. Coral almost knows me too well.

Cas slams into my shoulder, not noticing my presence as he bounds down the stairs.

"Watch it sis!" He hollers as he nearly tumbles out the door and out into the sunshine which I had recently abandoned.

My shoulder stings and I whirl around to question Coral about his hurried movements. She answers without me having to ask.

"He wanted to go train some more before the reaping," Coral said in disbelief.

"Which as we all know is a lie, because I saw Petra down at the beach," I laugh back.

My thirteen-year old brother Caspian does do some training, a lot of it actually, but not very much lately. He doesn't think we know, but we do. He's been spending time with this girl from his grade, Petra, and she's always within one-hundred feet of our house for some reason. Caspian would like to think that his little romance is a secret, but we all know.

"I just pray there are no little Caspians running around any time soon," Coral sighed.

"That would be two too many," I chuckle.

Coral helps keep my mood light, but after I reach my room, thoughts of Dory settle back down on me. My mother has laid out a beautiful emerald dress for me, it matches my dark green eyes perfectly. I put my sandy brown hair in a fishtail braid and complete the ensemble with my grandmother's brooch. I slip the shell I found earlier into one of the pockets of the dress and slip on my flats, making my way back down the stairs out to the main room.

Our house is small, divided into three sections. The first is the main room, it has a small television and a couch, with some mats on the floor for Coral, Caspian and I to sit on. The main room also has the front door built into the wall, so it's what you see when you first enter. The second part is the kitchen, which is so small you can't breathe. We eat in the main room, so there is no dining room or anything like that. Then there are two bedrooms. One for my parents and the other one crammed full with two bunk beds. Caspian and Coral are paired and the other one was where Dory and I slept. I gave that bed to Caspian, the haunting reminder being too much for me. Now Coral and I share our own bunk bed, and Caspian thinks it's the coolest thing to have his own.

My father, Triton, is much younger than he looks. He works at the wharfs the make up the main fishing industry of District Four, and sometimes will have to go out to sea as a ship hand. We don't see him every day, so it's hard. He comes home when he can though, and I never see my mother happier. Not since Dory died.

My mother, Sandra, is a woman of tenacity. She makes nets for the fishing company my father works for, and sometimes my siblings and I help her. She makes them at home, working behind our house in a small wooden shack. When she fills a cart with nets, Caspian or I will haul them off to the wharf and collect the money. It's not much, but it helps us get food while my father is away. My mother doesn't give up though, and has worked fiercely since Dory died, her hands never leaving her work. It's difficult for me to console her, to let her know that she can stop. It doesn't always work though.

I am stunning in my gown; I know it when Coral shoots me some flippant look. Her only flaw is her airs, and she is aware of it. Her pearly sundress pales to mine, but she relents, because this is my last year of eligibility. Caspian told her he would meet us at the square, and my father is out at sea, work doesn't stop for the Hunger Games in District Four. My mother appears from her bedroom, tidying her light blue dress and applying the last touches of eye shadow. She turns to Coral and I and gasps.

"My…Ula," she breathes, unaware her daughter could be so striking.

She lays her fingers delicately on my shoulder, as if I were some fragile porcelain ready to break at the slightest breath. She murmurs something under breath and tears well in her eyes. I catch them in their sacs, preventing her make-up from running and force an unwonted smile onto my face.

Coral rolls her eyes jocularly as the three of us depart for the square. My mother's long legs are built for swimming and her strides are great. She is cutting back her normal pace to allow herself to stay with her daughters. We reach the square and she plants a firm grip on my shoulder.

"At least I'll have one," she whispers in dark mirth.

The thought scares me, for some odd reason it calls forth a ghost that I can't pinpoint. The thought leaves me, but it will be conjured in a moment. The past victors of District Four are sitting on stage and the phantom of my thoughts assails me once more. Marlene Tradewind, one of the victors gives me a reassuring smile, and the memory shapes in my mind.

Dory, Marlene and I are sitting in the sand, staring up at the morning sun. It's bright rays pierce my eyes and I rest my arm on my brow. Marlene huffs with anger as the same thing happens to her, but instead rises to cast off the glare.

"It's almost ten," she pouts.

"Patience Mar," Dory giggles, her laughter like honey in the wind. "I know the Games mean a lot to you, but savor this moment before you have to hop on that train to the Capitol." Dory says Capitol like its poison. Dory rises and offers her hand to me, and I take it in thanks. Grains of shining sand fall of our back like snowflakes, and gently brush the ground. We make our way to the square, the smell of salty air on our hair. I make my way to the fourteen-year old section and wave at Dory as she joins the eighteen-year olds. Marlene crosses up to the stage.

I know exactly what will happen when Coral is reaped, only twelve years old. My mother's shrieks of desperation can be heard as Coral is nearly dragged to the stage by Peacekeepers, I sway on the balls of my feet, ready to pounce like a cat. Dory beats me though, and she holds her head high and plants a reassuring kiss on both of Coral's cheeks. My mother wraps Coral in her arms and sobs as now her eldest child pushes up to the stages. Dashell Endarye, our district escort, takes Dory's hand and leads her up the stage. Dashell's vibrant blue hair permeates my eyes.

When we arrive in the Justice Building, everything is a blur. My father gives Dory reassuring tips and my mother sobs into my shoulders. Dory nods, looking straight into my eyes and before I register her passing of the torch, we are out in the hall, flanked by Peacekeepers. I assume my role, now eldest child, and look back at the mahogany door as it closes on my sister. The last time I'll ever see her. My mother raises her head, the salty tears coating her visage. She looks down at me and smiles, a warped love painted on her mouth. She leans in to me and hugs me, embracing her daughter with a pageant of emotion. She pulls back and stares at me.

"At least I'll have one," she says.

The memory jolts me in my place, and my mother looks concerned.

"Be strong Ula," she offers in an ill-timed condolence.

I am standing with the other eighteen-year old girls, not knowing I am standing in the same exact place as Dory four years ago. I shift my weight, oblivious to the significance of my resting place. Dashell comes out, following the mayor's yearly droning. I tune out the welcomes, sickened to the point of exasperation. My mind is blank, searching for something to think about when the worst thought of all enters like the knife of an assassin in an unsuspecting king's throat.

"Ula Ermin!" Dashell calls.

Like clockwork, the sands of time repeat, and four gasps are definitively heard. District Four is a close knitted district, we all work together to bring the harbors money and prosperity. So, the first gasp is cognizant of the Ermin name, registering the fact that yet another Ermin child is being sent like a lamb, more like a fish, to slaughter at the hands of the capitol, the fishermen. The crowd gasps again when my mother faints, something I don't learn yet. My mother topples backward into the square. And some man catches her thankfully. She does not wake until someone tosses water on her face minutes later so she can bid me goodbye.

The third gasp is from Marlene on the stage, whose eyes flutter like a fish snagged by a hook, and she plops down in her chair to catch her breath. Marlene is my best friend, assuming the role of big sister after Dory died. She and Dory were great friends, the three of us always used to hang out. Marlene didn't let her victory drive her to insanity, steeling herself to fill the hole Dory left behind. She mentored Dory, and now she will mentor me.

The fourth gasp emits from my lips, and I make my way to the stage. Dashell extends a hand and I don't accept it. I stand there, frozen, waiting for the boy to be called.

"Richard Crevan!"

I am alarmed at the fact that the boy has to have chains removed off of him when he is called. Then I realize who he is. The lovely boy who murdered his father and the secretary, just perfect. I'm pretty sure I would pick him last if I were allowed to pick my district partner. He's killed before, twice, so he'll probably gut me like a fish in training.

We are led into the Justice Building and the reaping concludes.

My mother pours into the room, tailed by Coral and Caspian. Caspian is strong and squeezes my hand, our strong wills binding and preventing us from crying. My mother and Coral cry enough for all four of us and after several promises and condolences; they are swept out of the room. Marlene would come see me if she weren't a victor, but she is, so that's all the love I get before I'm carted to my death.

I shove my hands into my dress pockets and feel the small pink shell in between my fingers. I smile, and am pleased that I am bringing a token of the beach with me, keeping the place I call home by my side. I don't know why, but it almost elates me, and I start to think about how if I play it smart, I might actually walk away from this.

I can swim, I am smart, I'm strong, and I've trained all my life. The stars are certainly aligned. That murderer boy may have killed before, but he's unstable, not smart on his feet. That's why he killed the secretary, panic because his plan was foiled. The only way to kill a cat is to corner it, and that's exactly what I'll do.

Carrying my symbol of the sea with me, the grains of sand tumbling in my pocket I feel the slightest hint of courage peer into my heart, and I invite it in. I am humble, whether I die or not, this is my fate, and I know Dory would want me to hold my head high just like she did. I meet with Rip and the Peacekeepers and we are pushed onto the train.

I have a date with destiny, and I certainly won't let him get in the way.